


if you shall surely be the death (of me)

by netflixing



Category: To All the Boys I've Loved Before Series - Jenny Han, To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before (2018)
Genre: Angst and Romance, Angst and Smut, BAMF Lara Jean, Detective Lara Jean Song-Covey, F/M, Flash Forward, Mafia AU, Mob AU, Slow Burn, flash back, gratuitous background and location descriptions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:28:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22471846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/netflixing/pseuds/netflixing
Summary: Peter Kavinsky has run with the wrong crowd most of his life, racking up an extensive rap sheet and history throughout his years. New York was supposed to be a fresh start, a chance to start again, and opportunities falling into his lap (literally and figuratively) but what happens when his past starts to haunt him and affect who he loves the most?orthe lead detective of nypd is unknowingly dating the city's newest most underground mob boss, and the once all the cards are laid out on the table, what limits will they reach to save both their relationship and their jobs.what will happen once the pathways eventually cross in the cruelest of ways?
Relationships: Peter Kavinsky & Lara Jean Song-Covey
Comments: 3
Kudos: 56





	1. one

**_Feb 2020_ **

Peter Kavinsky would like to think he ran a shockingly normal and domestic life as of recently. He’d started paying rent on his studio apartment uptown, has started a new positively normal job clerking at one of the most prestigious law firms in the state. and has lucked out somehow with being in one of the prettiest cities in the fifty United States. New York was home, for now, and he enjoyed the little charms of the city (even the odd fluffy-suited character he had to pass on the street on his way home). 

And sure, if we’re deciding to go full case study here, he grew up in a fairly normal family, in a close and tight knit community. His parents co-owned a seafood restaurant and he likes to say he learned to bus tables before he could even form proper and grammatical sentences. But life was good for the Kavinskys for a proper amount of time. It wasn’t hardly long enough in his opinion, and things were not as easy for them for a while. They struggled to make ends meet, Peter having to work extra shifts at his diner job, alongside trying to get every one of his high school teachers to vouch for him missing so many days and credits. but he was happy 

**_September 2019_ **

He hadn’t seen his father in years; he couldn’t even  _ remember  _ the last time he’d seen the familiar pair of dark eyes staring back at his.

In the words and storytelling ability of his mother, he’d left when things got tough for the family, got himself into a rough patch of trouble. He never  _ wanted  _ to ask his father for help, but as the saying goes, desperate times call for desperate measures - right?

So there he was, sweaty palmed and in the nicest dress shirt he could borrow from a cousin, getting screened for metals and potential weapons by a sour-faced corrections officer at the local state prison. 

“My boy, you must really be desperate crawlin’ on your knees to me here - huh?” His father, clad in a dark blue jumpsuit, was a startling revelation to say the least. He had aged at least ten years since he had been incarcerated, and terribly so. 

Raising the red phone to his ear, Peter doesn’t realize how much his voice was wavering until he actually spoke. 

“Dad, I..uh.” He swallows, feeling as if his throat was made of sawdust, “I really fucked up... I can’t get into college, I’m a disappointment to Mom, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now, I really don’t...” He can’t meet his dad’s eyes behind the other side of the bulletproof glass. 

Mr. Kavinsky raises a furrowed brow, letting out a self-satisfied huff.

“What happened to _my little golden boy_? My _eldest son_? Huh, _ bambino _ ? You were supposed to be my pride and joy - you know that? Now look at you, a  _ disgrace,``  _ He spits roughly, hardened from years of experience. 

At twenty, he was at the cusp of adulthood, yet still a child as the words stung just as hard. 

“I need your help Dad.. I’ll do anything, swear to God..” He’s ignoring the odd looks he’s getting from the other visitors. His leg is bouncing with so much anxiety, he feels like he’s going to launch off the chair and through the speckled ceiling. He waits, working at his lower lip before hearing, finally, a small defeated sigh through the receiver. His father jabs a finger to him on the glass, 

“You’re gonna go see Mikey down at the docks - okay? Tell him I sent you, wear my jacket from the closet, don’t walk like a scaredy cat, and  _ don’t  _ embarrass me or our name. If you really wanna fix this, you gotta get a little blood on your hands kid, can’t have you bein’ a baby forever Peter. I wan-” His father’s makeshift speech is cut short by the warden issuing the ten minute warning. 

Peter’s head is swimming by the end of the conversation, and on his way out of the parking lot, it was a lot to take in to say the least. He takes the long way home, running up the stairs to where a box of his father's clothes were kept. However long his mother cursed his name throughout the years of him growing up, she was a sentimental being and he knew she still wore her wedding ring on a chain around her neck, not respecting him enough to wear it on her left hand, as they never divorced before he was sentenced, but enough to keep him by her heart. 

His heart hammers against his chest as he pulls out the satin bomber jacket, embroidered with the family name in golden thread and neat calligraphy against the left breast of the jacket. Pulling his arms through, he lets out a short breath, catching sight of himself in the mirror. 

He doesn’t arrive at the docks until later on that night, stopping the car down the street, killing the engine, and walking through the gates. It was almost sunset and he stuffed his hands in the lined pockets of his father’s jacket, feeling almost as if he was out of body, like he shouldn’t be wearing this exact jacket, and walking out to do this specific thing. 

“I’m looking for a man by the name of Mikey?” Peter attempts to address a man in coveralls who was working on a commercial fishing boat in one of the garages off the ramps. 

“Yeah he’s down in the office, I’ll let him know you’re here though,” The man, who couldn’t be much older than forty, pulls a cellphone from one of the toolbox drawers. Before his anxiety over the situation can get the better of him, the man returns the phone to the drawer and looks to Peter with a nod, 

“Y’can go in now, bottom of the stairs to the left,” 

He manages to mumble out a quick pleasantry before following the mechanic’s directions to the office. 

He takes a deep breath, before knocking a few times, 

The man who opens the door however, is not who he was picturing at all. He was tall with dark features, clean shaven, with a small gold cross hoop hanging from his left ear. 

“Mr. Kavinsky, do what do I owe the pleasure?” 

Peter forces out a grimace “Mr. Kavinsky is my father, call me Peter.” He shakes hands with Mikey, stepping inside the office as the door is shut behind him. Well if there was any chance or opportunity for him to bolt from this meeting, his options were slim to none now. 

“I need some help, uh,” Peter wrings his hands uncomfortably “Financially, I need to go to college but I just don’t have the funds, or the grades,” One of his hands reaches up to rub the back of his neck sheepishly. “My dad said maybe you could help me? Something about a long seated deal or bet or something?” he offers, hoping something will ring a bell.

The man sitting across from him, cracks a smirk, and before long it’s exploded into a full grin, exposing teeth so white they had to be veneers.  “It’s finally time to let you in on all Daddy’s little secrets - am I right?” He snorts with laughter and Peter shifts in his chair. 

“I .. I don’t understand?” Peter balks, he didn’t know a lot about his dad, information limited to his mother, and when he saw his trio of aunts for weddings and Easter. 

“You don’t  _ know? _ ” Mikey deadpans, obviously realizing Peter wasn’t in so far on the ‘joke’ as he thought he was. “Your father, organized this whole operation before the feds caught him, he was a legend, untouchable even. We were the envy of every family, everyone wanted to work for the Kavinskys’,” 

“I still don’t-“ Peter’s cut off by Mikey clapping a large hand onto his shoulder. 

“Well consider this your formal welcome to  _ la familia  _ son, all this?” He nods, beginning to pace the length of his office, " _Was_ your fathers, 'till he got his ass hauled off."

“Since you’re the next, well,” he pauses to correct himself “only living eldest son of the bloodline, it’s only fair that it’s all to be passed onto you, since you're of age. I’ve been waiting to see when you’d finally come around, didn’t think it’d be when you’re sniffing around for cash,” Mikey, scoffs 

“Will I have enough money to go to college next fall? What about my mother?” Peter’s blurting our questions without answers and he can hear his fathers disembodied voice in the back of his mind reprimanding him. 

“ _ Son,  _ what we’re going to do in a year, will have you making more money that you’ve ever seen in your _fuckin'_ life thus far,” 

“Is any this legal though? Is it a reputable business?” He sputters, oblivious to how far he's actually running his mouth.

“If any of this was fuckin’ legal, do you still think you’re dad’s in prison for just an obstruction of justice charge?” The burly man cackles out a single laugh.

Peter feels like he’s the deer caught in the headlights, or the moth in the light, or some other poorly put together metaphor that wouldn’t among to adequately describing how his heart fell out his literal  _ ass  _ when he was forced to re-examine everything he knew about his father. 

Mikey made it obvious that he had no time for millennials having nervous breakdowns in his office, not today at least, today was a  _ business meeting.  _

“Your father he was..” Mikey’s voice is briefly muffled as he dips into closet to pull out some files. “A good friend of mine, we went to college together, we were buddies y’know?” 

Peter nodded, swallowing whatever lump was building steadily in his throat. He couldn’t even picture his father outside the prison visiting areas, let alone imagine what his father was like in college. But is this what he had to look forward to? 

A broken legacy and some pitied looks of sympathy from college officials? 

“So are we doin’ this or what kid?” He’s snapped out of his thoughts by the base of a pen roughly being shoved into his grip.

“Uh,” Peter begins, ever the _fucking_ _eloquent,_ “I don’t-“ 

“You’re gonna regret this if you don’t kiddo,” Peter hears the older man rifling around in his desk drawer, until he finds what he was looking for, ripping into a pack of Backwoods, offering one across the desktop to Peter, which he politely declines, he could at least live up to  _ some  _ of his mothers standards . 

“You’re young, smart,” he pauses, “Definitely better than the average conventionally attractive man who walked through these doors,” he points at Peter with the top of his cigar “We can use that, they never fuckin’ suspect the pretty boys do anything, Harvard Business kids and all that right?” 

Peter narrowly avoids choking on air, as he listens to the stream of consciousness continue, he nods in what he believes are correct places. 

“Sign.” It’s a simple word, accompanying a puff of smoke, “Do you want a better life or not? Do you not want to support your poor mother since she’s only got one son left now?” 

Whatever persuasion technique Mikey was using, it was working, Peter clicks the pen and scans over the stack of hes not sure exactly  _ how legal  _ documents in front of him with something he’s 75.3% is a NDA. 

He bites his tongue, scribbling his initials where the coloured flags indicated, before setting it back down on the desk. 

Mikey’s smile elaborates into something almost skeleton and sinister-like. 

He reaches behind his chair towards a golden accented bar cart, pouring whiskey into two glass tumblers, passing one to Peter first, offering his glass in toast, but holding up a hand in protest first.” 

“I dedicate this toast to a certain Mr.  _ Peter Kavinsky,  _ and the new route he’s decided to take, it was the right one for us kid,  _ Saulte ! ”  _

They clink glasses and Peter throws almost half the serving back, blinking back stinging eyes at the taste and burn of his throat.

It was the first real thing he’s felt in years. 


	2. two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to Covid, I finally had a chance to revisit this fic and plot out my storyline/character development.  
> hope you enjoy and please let me know in the comments if you would be so inclined to 🥰

**_March 2020_ **

“Yes I’ll call you when I get home tonight and we can talk about the  _ Bachelor, _ but I really have to run now Kitty, my train’s going to be here in-” 

As if right on cue, the subway train screeches to a halt in the station, forcing Lara-Jean to mumble a quick goodbye to her sister and pocket her phone into her blazer. 

She lifts her briefcase onto the rack above her, slipping her airpods in, and shuffling her music until she found a tune that was adequate enough to accompany the background noise of her commute. 

To be fair, she missed the slow paced life from her small town, the change of seasons, that  _ particular coffee _ from her favourite small cafe downton, and of course, her dad and her family. 

She had always been close to her family, with plans to attend a local college, then settle roots in the same state, but when the opportunity presented itself for her to attend training post-grad with the NYPD, she couldn’t exactly say no. 

And it wasn’t Scotland, so her father and step-mom had a little bit more of a push to say yes, (and the fact that Kitty would take over her room once she left, leaving a window of opportunity there )

And so, with a little help from Margo, she packed (most) of her college bedroom into a UHaul to her small apartment in Queens. 

To say that New York was a culture shock within her own country would be the understatement of the century. 

During her first month, she had gotten lost numerous times through the train system, had been carded at the local bodega more times than she could count on one hand even though she was almost _ twenty four _ , and almost called the police thinking someone was climbing up her fire escape ladder when she came to the revelation that  _ shit, i am the police now.  _

This is what she had dreamed about since she was a kid, to be actually making a difference and doing  _ right _ by her standards. 

Bustling into the precinct he scrambles to pull her badge out of her coat to show the front door security personnel, exchanging pleasantries with the new interns on the way to her office. 

No matter how many times she clocked in for work, she’d never tire of seeing her nameplate. 

Her greatest accomplishment to date. She was still fairly young but already had the envy of other detectives for the amount of cases she’s solved. 

Wasting no time, she sheds her coat and briefcase, pulling out her needed files, taking a quick moment for purely straightening her suit jacket and tucking her glasses into the pocket. 

“Good morning gentlemen, how are we all doing today?” She breezes into the conference room in her baby pink pumps, taking her seat around the table, closest to the whiteboards. 

High-school Lara Jean wouldn’t have ever had the confidence to walk through a room of men, and still feel like the smarter person in the room, but it’s funny how time changes you as a person, 

She was one of the only female detectives on the team, and she didn’t earn that title lightly. 

Gone were the days of meek Lara Jean who never asked for what she wanted.

She had fought tooth and nail for the last two years for every case she wanted, meticulously submitting and resubmitting forms and files and suffering through the piles of paper work. 

Here, she learned to be loud, to be heard, to have a seat at the table. 

“Enough chatter,” her immediate attention is on her commanding officer, now bringing in a large piece of card stock into the room and kicking out the easel. 

She doesn’t flinch when she sees the crime scene pictures, the grisly murders and assassinations that had been happening all over the city, seemingly overnight. 

All signs pointed to rival mob activities, the ‘calling cards’ left at each crime scene, it wasn’t that these people necessarily  _ wanted  _ to be caught, it was that they wanted law enforcement to know it was them, and what exactly they were up against. 

Lara-Jean had formed a few theories on her own of logical reasoning between the nuts and bolts of this case, but nothing connected. 

* * *

A long day later, she’s back on the same train, holding onto the handle and swaying with the curves in the tracks. 

In perspective, Lara-Jean’s life was pretty great, but the only thing missing was someone to share it with. Sure, she’d dated a few guys in college and awkwardly navigated frat houses with said guys, but it was never anything permanent. 

* * *

_ “Just give it time LJ, if it’s meant to be it’ll be,” Margot croons from the other end of the line,  _

_ “I just.. I just don’t get it,” she huffs, bitter and cynical as ever, “Why do other people get all the love in life, and I’ve literally been romanticizing my whole life story,”  _

_ “ I’m afraid I don’t have the answer to that kiddo, but if you can’t love yourself, how the hell are you going to love someone else?”  _

_ Lara-Jean actually pauses her spiraling to snort a laugh “You did not just give me advice from Drag Race and try and pass it off as your own!”  _

_ She could almost hear her sisters smile through the phone “And what if I did, what’s it to you anyways?”  _

* * *

She’s so lost in her own head, she almost misses her stop being called by the automated transit voiceover. 

_ shit shit shit shit  _

Almost tripping over her own two feet to get to the doors, she glazes over the fact that she was basically decking the man beside her with her briefcase. 

The doors close before she can get to them, and she’s left with the realization she’ll have to ride the whole loop a second time around before her stop comes up again. 

“Oh god, I am  _ so sorry,”  _ She blushes, settling the case between her feet. “Are you alright?” 

Since the car had spilled out earlier, there was only the two of them, and a handful of others. 

Lara-Jean didn’t observe much, especially when it came to strangers, but this man seemed about her age, which was a fair judgement, considering his choice of outfit, and trendy hair style. 

In a flash, she takes in the cross earring that hung from his left ear, and tattoo in harsh messy writing that ran down his neck

“I’m fine, I’ve seen worse.. Are you  _ staring _ at me?” The stranger coughs, giving Lara-Jean a furrowed brow, and she wishes she could just  _ die _ . 

“Whaat? No...no way,” her voice jumps about three octaves more than where she could control it and she’d never be able to go to Vegas, as she has the worst poker face in the game, he could easily read her like a book if he so inclined. 

“You a lawyer or somethin’?” He speaks again, slight accent poking through his words that she couldn’t place, but chalks it up to Italian roots. 

She wasn’t about to typecast him, but he seemed like the type, and if the shoe so fits. “Who’s watching who now?” She counters, tucking her arms into her blazer. 

She sighs, running her tongue over her lips before speaking again, Margo  _ did say  _ that spontaneity would find her at the worst times, 

“No.” She bristles, “I do work for the courts though, but I won’t be able to get you off for free if that’s what your asking,” 

She regrets what she said the moment it escapes her lips. Her train partner almost chokes on the air, turning an off shade of pink in his cheeks. 

“Oh God! That’s not what I meant!  _ I can’t legally _ get you off!” She’s not doing herself any favours by trying to backtrack her own comment, and suddenly they’re both wheezing at her own stupid Freudian slip. 

“Do you live around here then?” He asks, once they’ve both caught their breath and she glances up at the track and shakes her head.

“‘Cause I know a really good cocktail bar at this next stop, and what I’ve been really wanting to ask this whole time is are you free tonight?”

His eyes almost shimmer in the reflection of the midweek sunset and it’s cruel and unfair and scary and brand new all at once. 

She’s caught aback by his boldness, his cleverness.   


She swallows thickly, and her heart speaks before her brain could concoct some excuse or fake boyfriend to call.

“Uh no actually, I’m not, I’d like that very much but to be fair you don’t even know my name, so I don’t really think a yes is warranted in this situation.” 

He grins, tugging his bottom lip between teeth, rustling red tinted hair between his hands and she can feel a certain part of her, deep below her chest flutter. 

“Names can come later, they aren’t too important , anyways the stop is soon so you’ll need to decide in the next 20 seconds, but does calling you darling suffice until then?” 

He widens his stance in the seat opposite hers as he speaks and he’s so damn  _ smooth _ about it, she doesn’t know whether to kick him in the shins or fall to her own knees. 

She wraps a hand around her own wrist, testing for a dream or Punk’d or something else that would stand in the way of this unbelievably gorgeous man asking her out on a fucking  _ subway car in New York.  _

She hears him shuffle to standing collecting his own things, extending his hand to hers 

“So, what do you say, my  _ darling  _ , a night of adventure for the low price of absolutely nothing?” 

She hears her own voice in her head, small, and asking to consider the rational implications of her actions but every bone in her body is screaming for him, for his  _ touch _ , for him. 

“I’ll follow you then,” a glimmer of a smile across her bright features as she slips her palm in his, a suddenly intimate and unprepared action.

“Here’s our stop -“ 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this because I couldn’t sleep, and now I must sleep!  
> I always read every one of my comments or kudos so please let me know what you are thinking of the fic so far!! (thoughts/feels/anything!)

**Author's Note:**

> haven't published anything in this tag in deadass a year, but thought it would be a good a time as any to churn out my fave au before the next film is released!
> 
> leave a kudos + cute comment if you enjoyed this and would be interested in hearing more! (honestly every single one warms my cold dead heart)


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